The Lydian Baker

Nerves or not, she'd said it with a shy pride that I found pretty touching, especially since I'd seen the place myself, but Callippus grunted and lowered his eyes. Callippus knew the Serangeion district and what 'import-export' was a euphemism for as well as I did.

'And he's been missing since when?'

I saw that he'd picked up the pen again; not because he was interested, I knew, but because he'd noticed that she'd noticed he wasn't taking notes. I had a lot of time for Callippus: Athens might claim to have invented democracy but as far as putting the lower orders in their place is concerned some of these guys from the old aristocratic families could've given the Tarquins lessons.

'Since the night before last.' Chrysoulla's hands twisted together in her lap. 'He went out just before sunset.'

'Physical description?'

'What he looked like, you mean? Taller than me, but not much. Thirty. Dark curly hair.'

'Distinguishing marks?' Callippus waited; nothing came. 'Scars? Blemishes? Birthmarks? Anything like that.'

'Oh.' She blinked. 'Yes, I'm sorry. He had a long scar on his wrist. Under the thumb. From a dog bite.'

Callippus looked up at her, his broad face expressionless. 'And which wrist would that be, now?'

'The left one.'

'I see.' Callippus laid the stylus down. 'Lady Chrysoulla, would you mind if I stepped outside with Valerius Corvinus for a moment?'

Uh-oh.

'No, lord. Of course not.' Her eyes were wide and scared.

'Corvinus?' Callippus got up. I followed him outside and he closed the door carefully behind us and moved away from it. His face was grave.

'He's dead, right?' I said quietly.

He nodded. 'Very. The description matches, and the scar's a clincher. We'll need a formal identification, of course. You can do that?'

'No. I never met the guy.'

'That,' Callippus's mouth twisted, 'is a pity.'

'Yeah? Why so?'

'He's a mess; badly beaten, throat cut from ear to ear. I'd rather his wife didn't see him.' Jupiter! 'Is there anyone else we could ask? Anyone at all?'

'No. Not that I know of. Where did you find him?'

'Practically on our doorstep. On the Founders' plinth, with his back against the Ptolemy statue. My lads thought he was drunk and had jumped the barrier, got stuck and gone to sleep.'

'This was two nights ago?'

'No. First thing this morning.' He hesitated. 'The body's next door, as it happens.'

'You want to tell her?'

'Unless you'd care to do it.'

'No way. You're the professional, pal.'

'You think that makes it any easier?'

Maybe not, but I took the coward's way out all the same. I stayed where I was while Callippus went back into his office and told Chrysoulla she could see her husband now.

After Chrysoulla had identified Argaius we left her in charge of a motherly cleaner while I took a look at the corpse myself. Callippus was right: the poor bastard was no sight for anyone, never mind his wife. Whoever had beaten him up before slitting his throat had done a thorough job.

'Was there any blood?' I asked.

Callippus shook his head. 'Not by the plinth. Not anywhere else in the Market either, in the quantities that must've been involved. By the looks of things they used a crowbar.'

'Uh-huh.' I felt sick. 'So he was killed first, then dumped.' Callippus said nothing. 'But why the hell murder him in the Piraeus and then bring the corpse five miles to Athens? And why leave it in the Market?'

'You're assuming he was killed where he disappeared. He could've been brought to the City alive.'

'Sure. But both Athens and the Piraeus are full of places where he might not be found for days. Maybe never. That doesn't answer my second question.'

'No. But it might explain these.' Callippus pointed to four livid bruises on the corpse's wrists and ankles. 'Rope burns. He was tied, although when my lads found him the ropes had already been removed.'

So. Rope marks. Signs of a thorough and systematic beating. The obvious inference was that the killer had been persuading Argaius to talk. No prizes what about, either.

'Corvinus.' Callippus's voice was quiet, almost apologetic. 'I've been careful so far not to ask you where you come into this. Maybe you'd better explain now.'

Well, that was fair. I told him all I knew, including what Chrysoulla had let slip about her husband's business activities and my own meeting with Prince Charming. He took down the guy's description without a word.

'It doesn't ring any immediate bells,' he said. 'You could be right and the killing's a one-off, amateur stuff. On the other hand, running illegal antiquities, genuine or fake, is a profitable business locally. My guess is your friend had stepped on someone's toes. Someone a lot bigger than he was.'

I nodded. 'Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense, I suppose.'

'It would explain where the body was dumped, too.'

'Is that right, now? You like to explain why?'

'The Founders' plinth is used for notices; very official, very public. If Argaius was in the trade, or trying to break into it, then leaving his body there would act as a warning.'

That was an angle I hadn't thought of. There wasn't much organised crime in Athens but as Callippus said the antiquities trade pulled in the cream. And these guys didn't encourage competition.

'You think that's the answer?' I said.

Callippus shrugged. 'Maybe. I'm guessing, of course, but it's an educated guess. In any case we'll look into the matter. For what it's worth.' He closed his pad. 'You've seen enough?'

'Sure.' I frowned at Argaius, lying there on his wooden table like a big broken doll. 'One more thing. What about the funeral arrangements?'

'Those are up to his wife, naturally. Once the body is identified it's released to the next of kin automatically.'

'You know of anyone who'll take them on for her? A local undertaker, maybe?'

'Of course. Lots of them. Cleiton in Knifemakers' Alley, Euphorbus at Three Springs…'

'Send someone round to Cleiton's. Middle-of-the-road job, nothing too cheap, whatever he does most of. Get him to send the bill to me. And find a lawyer who handles property sales in the Piraeus.'

Callippus looked at me curiously. 'You….ah…you're sure you've told me everything about this business, Corvinus?'

'Yeah.' I had. 'Why?'

'And this Chrysoulla. She's a friend of yours?'

'In a way. You got a problem, pal?'

'No. Just curious.'

Sure. I'd bet he was. A nice guy, Callippus, but oversuspicious and a mind like a sewer. Still, I suppose that went with the job.

I took Chrysoulla back home with me: I didn't want to risk another death and she wouldn't want to go to the Piraeus house now in any case. Which meant I had one more arrangement to make. While Perilla was settling her down in the guest room I sent Bathyllus to the nearest shipping agent's to book a passage on the first boat to Crete. I could get an address from her before she left, in case the Baker was on the level and she suddenly found herself an heiress. Not that that was likely, mind. Gods, what a mess!

When Perilla came back into the sitting room I was drowning my sorrows in the jar of Samian Labrus had sent me. It was prime stuff, all right, pure liquid gold: that over-civilised bastard Melanthus might be able to hold his own at the sharp end of a Socratic elenchos, but as far as appreciating good wine was concerned the guy was whistling through his aristocratic ears.

'How's Chrysoulla?' I asked, making space on the couch.

'Sleeping, thank goodness. I gave her some poppy juice.' Perilla squeezed in beside me. 'So what exactly does Callippus think happened?'

I told her. When I got to the part about the Founders' plinth and Callippus's theory of a gangland killing she frowned.

'You're sure Callippus said that Argaius's body was found under the Ptolemy statue, Marcus? The Ptolemy statue?'